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      “We’d love to help, of course,” replied Iris, “but we won’t be home after church on Sunday. The minister and Mrs. Urquhart have invited Mum, Dad, and me over to the Manse for Sunday dinner.”

      Mrs. Mack’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

      “Sunday dinner at the Manse with the minister? My, how grand!”

      “Well, now that William and me, I mean William and I, are stepping out together …”

      Mrs. Mack’s eyebrows rose even more.

      “Now, that’s some news I hadn’t heard about,” she said, looking pointedly at Lorna.

      “Well, it’s only been a week or two, eleven days actually,” continuted Iris, “but we are very keen on each other. He’s very good-looking, don’t you think? Just like a young Tyrone Power, that’s what we’ve always said.”

      Lorna vigorously shook her head behind Iris’s back to make sure the housekeeper knew that she was not part of that “we,” and Mrs. Mack suppressed a smile.

      “Well, I don’t get to the pictures very often these days, so I wouldn’t know about that,” Mrs. Mack said, “but I’m sure you’re right.”

      “And he’s very clever too, and very moral. So we’re doing things the right way, and that’s why our parents are meeting on Sunday.”

      “Meeting on Sunday?” Mrs. Mack burst out. “But your folks and the Urquharts have known one another for years. Decades even. Didn’t Reverend Urquhart baptize you and Lorna and every other bairn born in the village these last twenty years?”

      “But it’s different now.” Iris was pursing her mouth again. “They’ll be meeting for the first time as the parents of a couple who are stepping out. Don’t you see?”

      Behind Iris, Lorna picked up an imaginary noose and mimicked hanging herself. She could see Mrs. Mack was struggling not to smile.

      Suddenly, Iris spun around, catching Lorna with one hand in the air.

      “What are you doing, Lorna?” she demanded.

      “Sorry,” Lorna choked out. “You know I was only kidding.”

      “You’re just jealous because I have a young man now.” Iris put her hands on her hips, like an angry old man in the cartoons, which amused Lorna even more. “And you’re even more jealous because it’s William.”

      Lorna and Mrs. Mack were both laughing now, even as Iris’s voice rose with irritation.

      “I always knew you secretly liked him. Well, bad luck, Lorna, he’s mine now, and you can just die an old maid if that makes you happy.”

      Iris furiously buttoned up her coat.

      “And if you ever want to escape off this farm like you say, Lorna Anderson, then perhaps you should just grow up a bit and find someone to marry who’s as good and as clever and as driven as my William.”

      With that, Iris flounced out of the door.

      “Iris!” called Lorna. “I’m really sorry. Come back! I was only teasing.”

      But Iris was gone. Lorna didn’t go after her because Iris regularly flounced out after one disagreement or another, and they always made up at school the next day. Lorna rolled her eyes at Mrs. Mack, who shook her head.

      “That wasn’t very kind, you know,” said the housekeeper, “but my, it was funny.”

      “She’s right, though,” replied Lorna. “I probably will die an old maid, unless that German slaughters me in my bed first, just to put me out of my misery. Wait, do you even know about the German yet?”

      “Aye, I’ve met the German, but what are you havering about?” said Mrs. Mack with a snort. “That young laddie hasn’t enough gristle in his meat to choke a chicken, let alone to murder you. Did you not get a look at him? There’s nothing to him. Hasn’t had a square meal in months, judging by the speed he wolfed down the soup and dumplings I fed him at dinnertime.”

      “You gave him his dinner?” Lorna was startled.

      “Of course I gave him his dinner.” Mrs. Mack looked perplexed. “Why wouldn’t I? The lad has to eat if he’s expected to do a day’s work. Or should I be giving him gruel like he was in the workhouse? And a hunk of stale bread every Friday if he’s very lucky? Oh my goodness, but you’re a hard one.”

      “I’m not hard, I just don’t see why …”

      Mrs. Mack was looking at her steadily, one eyebrow raised as if Lorna’s words were simply proving her coldheartedness.

      “So where is he now?” Lorna asked instead.

      “They went over the back field after dinner,” Mrs. Mack replied, turning back to stir the stew. “One of the heifers got herself hooked onto the fence. And our Nellie’s getting the cows in for milking. She’ll likely be in begging a cup of tea before you can say ‘Where’s the shortbread?’”

      Sure enough, within minutes, Lorna heard the lowing of the dairy cows as they shuffled toward the milking parlor, as they did morning and night.

      Lorna went to the back door. Nellie was stamping along behind the cattle.

      Like Nellie, dozens of Land Girls were working on farms around East Lothian, doing the farmwork left by men called up to fight. When she’d first arrived from London, aged eighteen, Nellie had never even seen a cow before, but soon it was like she had been born into farming. Not only was she now a trained tractor mechanic, more importantly, Nellie had beguiled the cows into their best milk production in years and was clearly happier in Aberlady than she had ever been in London.

      Petite but buxom, Nellie was definitely the only Land Girl that Lorna had met who could wear the uniform of a thick green sweater and beige jodhpurs without looking like she was hiding a sack of potatoes up her shirt. And Nellie used her curves to great effect, by all accounts, in the pubs and dance halls on her nights off. She flirted unashamedly with local men and visiting servicemen alike and openly admitted that she was looking for someone who could offer her a better life after the war than she’d had at home in London before it.

      When Nellie caught sight of Lorna through the kitchen window, she waddled over as fast as she could in rubber boots at least two sizes too big for her tiny feet.

      “So what do you think?” Nellie said in a loud whisper.

      “About what?”

      “About the new chap, duckie. Didn’t you see him?”

      Lorna pretended not to understand.

      “For Gawd’s sake,” said Nellie, “that new young lad, the German, with the face, you know. That poor boy. What a mess! I could scarcely look at the poor blighter.”

      Lorna couldn’t think how to reply, but Nellie didn’t seem to need her to.

      “I don’t know about you,” Nellie continued, “but I’ll be locking my bedroom door at night, I will, if they’re going to let these Jerries roam around the place.”

      “They’re not roaming around,” said Lorna, unreasonably irritated even though she’d been thinking the same thing, “and he’s not going to be here at night. He’ll go back to the camp at night to be locked up again. At least, that’s what they said.”

      “Fingers crossed they keep those gates locked tight then, eh?” Nellie said. “I’ve been quite happy up to now keeping as far away from German soldiers as I can get.”

      She wandered back toward the milking parlor, slapping the trailing cows on their rumps to speed them up.

      “Good to know there’s one kind of soldier you’d stay away from, Nellie,” Lorna muttered to herself as she walked back to the kitchen.

      The next morning, as

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